The Resistance
by rakestrawberry
Summary: The people of Ohio are trapped in a zombie apocalypse. No one knows what caused it, no one knows when it will end, but a group of people who call themselves The Resistance are taking matters into their own hands and surviving as best they can. Quinn has a feeling she won't be going to Yale in the Fall - not with a machete strapped to her leg, anyways.
1. Arguably Better Than Donuts

**Quinn**

If you're reading this it probably means I'm dead.

My name is Quinn Fabray and I'm eighteen years old, living in Lima, Ohio. Or, what used to be Lima, Ohio, just six weeks ago. How it ended up being just me and Brittany, I can't remember. For some reason, we both had the idea to go to Mr. Schuester's house, but our High School Spanish teacher and his fiancé, Ms. Pillsbury, were nowhere to be found. Afraid to go back outside, Brittany and I have been living in Schuester's apartment since the outbreak began six weeks ago. You can learn a lot in six weeks.

Like what weapons to use. And what not to use. The first time Brittany and I had left the apartment to get food and supplies, she had taken a baseball bat, and I had taken a can of pepper spray that belonged to Ms. Pillsbury; they were the only weapons we could find. As it turns out, pepper spray is pretty useless in combat with a zombie. I have a theory that the undead can't feel pain, because the pepper spray had the same effect as if we'd had thrown a glass of water in his face. Brittany's baseball bat was more effective, but she really had to bash a zombie's head in to kill it. You'd expect that kind of thing to result in a crimson shower of blood, but that's another thing we learned about zombies. They don't bleed right, not the way we do. Their blood is all dried and congealed inside them. I'm assuming they have no blood flow, probably because they have no heartbeat. This is all conjecture. I'd never gotten close enough to take a zombie's pulse.

When we had ventured all the way to Dudley Road to see if my parents were still alive, I'd discovered the rifle that my father kept in the house. I'd had to shoot my own infected mother with it. Repeatedly. Brittany decided then that she didn't want to visit her house. If her family was infected, she knew she didn't have the capability in her heart to kill them. So I left the rifle there. I didn't ever want to see it again. Besides, despite the fact that guns are fairly effective in zombie killing, unless you have a clear shot at the face, they aren't my favorite weapons. The loud noise my father's shotgun made had only attracted more zombies. In any case, neither Brittany nor I had ever used a gun before and we'd really need some sort of lessons in order to not be a danger to ourselves and each other. No, my weapon of choice - not that I condone weapons, but this is a zombie apocalypse we're talking about - is a machete. The only way to stop them is to chop them; that has become my motto.

Of course, we experimented with household items before. Shovels wielded like spears, aimed at the throat. Metal spatulas plunged at the side of the neck. But I've grown attached to the precise, bloody magic my machete can invoke. If you ever want to get in touch with your inner violence, kill a zombie.

Today, I looked in the refrigerator of Mr. Schuester's kitchen and found nothing but an untouched can of sardines. It was times like these when I missed my mother's talents for curing meat. Every time we went out, I got a little more confident and a little less afraid. I knew that today Brittany and I would have to go out again.

I called out to her and walked across the apartment to Brittany's room. "Britt!"

Mr. Schue's apartment had two bedrooms - the room he shared with Ms. Pillsbury and a spare room that looked like they were in the midst of turning into a nursery. Brittany offered to take a sleeping bag and sleep in the nursery, because she liked the feeling the pale yellow walls and the farm animal mobile gave her.

"Britt!" I called again and rapped my knuckles on the nursery door, listening close for any movement.

When she didn't reply, I slowly pushed the door open. She was there, her eyes open, but barely. She lay on top of her sleeping bag in just a pair of shorts and a bra, a cold sweat dripping off of her.

"Brittany..." I whispered, my eyes wide with fear. She looked awful.

"I don't feel good…" she replied, her voice hoarse.

A million things started running through my mind and most of them were nightmarish thoughts involving Brittany turning into a zombie. Brittany couldn't turn into a zombie. Then I'd have no-one.

"When was the last time we went outside?" I asked her even though I already knew.

"Last week."

"That's right," I sighed, "You didn't get bitten. You didn't, did you...? And even if you did, it's been a whole week-"

"I didn't get bitten," Brittany replied weakly.

I hesitated. "Can I check?"

Brittany nodded submissively and didn't move as I got on my knees and inspected her body. As I rolled her over to look at her back and the backs of her legs, I knew that it must feel a little invasive, but it had to be done.

"Not a mark," I said as she turned back over on her back.

"Am I gonna be a zombie?" she asked, looking up at me with glassy blue eyes.

"No," I said, and put my hand on her forehead. She was burning up. "You probably have the flu."

"Are you sure?"

I frowned. I wasn't sure. If I had Web MD or something to give me an idea, maybe I'd feel a little better about my diagnosis, but the internet had been down ever since the zombie outbreak began.

"Yeah," I said to her, anyways, "I'm gonna go out and I'm gonna get you some medicine, okay?"

Brittany nodded. "And DVDs."

I smirked down at her. We were sick of watching and re-watching Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury's DVD collection. We must have watched _Singin' In The Rain_ and _My Fair Lady_ a dozen times each.

"Any suggestions on the DVDs?"

"_Aristocats_," said Brittany. "The Disney version."

"I'll see what I can do."

I got dressed to go out - dark hoodie, dark jeans, dark sneakers - and strapped the machete to my leg. This was the first time I was going outside alone since the outbreak. Another thing I'd learned in the last six weeks was how to hotwire a car, so there was a Land Rover outside of the apartment building that Brittany and I had claimed as our own. I hopped into the SUV and drove out of North Elizabeth Street. There were dive bars and burger joints around the area that Britt and I had raided, but where we really wanted to be was a mall. We just never wanted to venture very far out with just the two of us. Still, over the weeks, there'd been less and less zombies. We assumed that they'd wandered out of Lima. At least out of our part. I still wasn't about to take any chances.

There were cafes and bars and restaurants around, but from what I could remember, the nearest mall or grocery store or even a damn convenience store was farther away from the apartment than I wanted to go. The farthest Brittany and I had been from the apartment was a two avenue radius. Not impressive, I know, but given the fact that there are soulless brain eaters walking the streets, we weren't eager to explore.

"Dammit Fabray," I said to myself as I drove around the block, "Don't be a coward. You have to take care of her."

For some reason I had this idea stuck in my head that Brittany was my responsibility, and when all this blew over, I'd be able to hand her safely back to her girlfriend. I wondered where Santana was now. If she was okay. If she was alive. I drove past Pierce Street - usually the limits of our venturing - and hoped I'd have more luck here. My heart skipped a beat when I drove past a donut store. I hadn't had a donut in... well, six weeks. I told myself that surely they'd be stale by now, but there was hope in my heart that there'd be some in freezer storage that'd be more or less edible after some time in the microwave. And frosting!

I wondered if frosting had an expiration date as I parked the SUV in the parking lot of Mello-Creme Donuts, with the other abandoned vehicles. I got out, machete at the ready (because, you never know) and walked into the restaurant, the interior all red. I walked quietly over to the back of the store, to what I thought was the back room, when I heard a muffled noise. Movement. Voices? From what I could tell, zombies weren't capable of intelligent speech, but maybe a pack of them were mumbling to each other. Yeah, that must be it.

I held out my machete and suddenly froze. A pack of them? I'd never encountered more than one zombie at a time, and that was with Brittany, two against one… and from what I could tell, zombies didn't tend to make friends. My stomach ached as I thought of abandoning frozen doughnuts and maybe even frosting, but I was no match for a whole pack of zombies, no matter how slow and stupid they were. I decided I would have to try somewhere else.

I turned around and screamed.

I almost jumped out of my skin when I saw what was at the door of the donut shop.

Not a zombie, a _person_. And not just any person. _Sam_. Sam Evans was standing there, his hair shorter than it used to be, with some sort of samurai sword in his hand. I smacked my hand to my mouth after my scream.

"Quinn?" Sam said, and then louder, "_Quinn Fabray_?"

"Shh!" I said, and pointed to the back room door, "Zombies!"

"Those aren't zombies," Sam walked to her and shook his head, staring at her "It's my crew. Guys!"

I snapped my attention to the door and my eyes got wider as several people - people I _knew _- walked out with their own weapons outstretched. Shelby Corcoran was the first to step out with a silencer over her bolt-action rifle, and Holly Holliday with a crowbar. Blaine Anderson came out with a Louisville Slugger and Jesse St. James was behind him with a golf club. I gaped at their familiar faces, my mouth hanging open in surprise. The only person I didn't recognize was a dark haired girl in her early twenties who was carrying an impressive longsword.

"Quinn," breathed Shelby in disbelief, lowering her gun.

"Quinn!" Blaine cried, and dropped his baseball bat with a clatter and pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back even tighter as I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes.

We'd never really been close, Blaine and I. We didn't hang out before the zombie outbreak. If anything, the only time we'd spent together was in glee club or because he was Kurt's boyfriend. But seeing Blaine now... It was like being brought back to a piece of normalcy. I was beginning to lose hope that I'd ever see any of my old schoolmates again. Beginning to think Brittany and I were the last people in Ohio.

"Where have you been?" he asked, pulling back and wiping tears from his eyes.

He looked so different now. His hair was short and wildly curly and his clothes were different. Sneakers and jeans and hoodies, like everyone else. No more bow ties.

"Me and Brittany have been staying in Mr. Schuester's old apartment-"

"Brittany's alive?" Holly gasped.

I nodded, trying to stop myself from tearing up even more.

"Quinn, you need to come with us," said Shelby.

"Come where?" I asked, more than willing to welcome authority back into my life.

"Return with us, to base," she said, "You and Brittany."

"She's not here. She's..." the word 'sick' got stuck in my throat. I knew what people were going to think if I said the word sick. They'd just hear 'infected'. "She's... back at the apartment."

"Is there anyone else?" asked Shelby.

"Just us," I shook my head.

"Okay. Bring us there," said Shelby.

"I'll go with her?" asked Sam, "Alone. We'll be quick."

Shelby looked reluctant. "Take Jennifer."

"Come on, we have a lot to talk about," Sam frowned, "I have my katana. She has her... what do you have?"

I looked down at the blade strapped to my leg. "Machete."

"Machete," smirked Sam, "Good choice."

"I have my car," I said to Shelby, "The apartment's only a few blocks away."

Shelby frowned. "Fine. Meet us back here in twenty minutes."

I looked at Shelby and hesitated. I used to know her as the adoptive mother of my child. What was she doing here if she had a baby to take care of? Assuming she had a baby to take care of... My stomach turned.

"Is... Is she...?"

"Beth is fine," Shelby said solemnly. Why didn't she sound happier?

"Where is she?"

"At the base," said Shelby, "You can see her if you hurry and bring Brittany back."

I nodded obediently and hurried along. Sam and I left in my SUV and I felt like crying. I'd found something arguably better than donuts. _People_.

"Where is your base?" I asked him as I drove.

"Akron," said Sam.

"You guys came all the way from Akron?" I raised an eyebrow, "For donuts?"  
Sam snickered. "A squad of us had been assembled to raid towns and gather supplies to bring back to base."

"So there are other people. There must be. Beth wouldn't be in Akron all on her own."

Sam nodded. "There are four squads."

I gaped at him again. Four squads? Four handfuls of people I probably knew? My heart leapt in my throat.

"Is Santana...?"

"She's alive. And kicking. She's on the Nelson Squad."

"You have squad names?" I asked, engrossed.

We had already reached Elizabeth Street and parked as he told me the names of their four squads, but I didn't want to get out yet. I needed to hear what the others were doing.

"Sue made them up."

More tears came to my eyes. "Coach Sylvester?"

"She set up The Resistance," Sam nodded.

"The _what_?"

Sam sighed. "She can explain it better to you later. The point is, we're all in squads and we all have a job to do."

"Who else is alive? What happened to Rachel?"

"Rachel's alive."

I exhaled and felt strangely euphoric. "Where is she?"

"With the Ringwald Squad," said Sam, "They stay in Akron and take care of the kids."

"Kids?"

"Beth. Stacy, Stevie-"

"Your Stacy and Stevie?"

Sam nodded. I smiled widely at the thought of such innocence surviving at a time like this. Beth's face was flashing in my mind.

"Who else? What about Puck? Finn? Kurt?"

Sam frowned. "Puck is in the Nelsons. With Santana. They fight."

My smile fell as Sam gave me short answers with a frown. "And Finn?... And Kurt? And the others?"

"Finn was out of here to join the military before the outbreak even started," said Sam, "...I don't know if Kurt made it."

"You don't know?"

"We never found him."

I frowned and nodded. I had so many more questions. I would have asked about Mercedes or Sam's parents and everyone else, but it didn't seem like he should have to answer those questions when most of them would probably be the same depressing answer.

"I'll go get Brittany," I said, and got out of the SUV as Sam waited inside.

I rushed up the flights of stairs, feeling lightheaded. So much had happened in such a small amount of time. I'd gone out to get food, medicine, maybe DVDs, but I'd come back with people. _Friends_.

"Brittany!" I called, my voice higher pitched than usual as I rushed into the apartment, "Brittany, you won't believe what happened, I went to Mello-Creme and I fou-"

I pushed the door of the nursery open to find it empty save for the mobile and a stack of carpet swatches in the corner.

"Brittany?" I called again, quieter, and heard a thump behind me.

I turned slowly and saw her there; standing behind me in her shorts and bra, her sweaty skin turned a disturbing shade of gray.

"Brittany..." I repeated again, my voice barely audible.

I'd seen that look on plenty people before. A low growl came from her chest as she stared at me with blank, mindless eyes.

"Brittany, no..." I said as we just stared at each other.

That's when she began to stumble forward, not in complete control of her body as her dull blonde hair fell down around her shoulder. She lunged for me in one jerky motion and I jumped back, letting her corner me into the nursery. My hand hovered above my machete, but I didn't pick it up. Surely this wasn't what it looked like. It was impossible. After all, she had no bites on her body.

"Brittany, wait," I said, "Brittany..."

What was I going to do? Bargain with a zombie? I had no intention of hurting her. All I wanted to do was take her safely back to Santana, especially now that I knew that Santana was alive. I probably would have stood there and been killed or infected if it wasn't for Sam. He came in after us, and wasted no time in swinging his samurai sword. The swish and slash was so fast, the next thing I knew, Brittany was lying in two pieces, blood dribbling out of her body.

The only thing you would have heard was me screaming.

**a/n: Special thanks to paperstylehearts, my lovely beta-reader 3**


	2. Introduction to Zombie Combat

**Sam**

Video games may or may not have saved my life.

All I know is that after eighteen years of playing first person combat against simulated zombies, and watching countless movies about the living dead, I've picked up an affinity for surviving a zombie apocalypse. Since the outbreak started just a little over six weeks ago, after the beginning of the summer break, I started keeping a handbook. Maybe one day when all of this is over, I could publish it. _Sam Evans's First Hand Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse._ Written with personal experience.

My survival instinct is almost a talent. When we raided the high class, high security penthouse of a video game designer in Findlay, and discovered both the katana sword and wakizashi blade hung on the wall, I didn't think I'd have the capability to use either of them. After all, samurais had to do a lot of training just to make sure that they didn't hurt themselves with their own sword. For me, the effect was a little quicker. I had removed the katana from its sheath and inspected it - no, _admired_ it - and knew how to use it almost immediately, like it had always belonged to me. I offered Shelby the smaller wakizashi, but she seemed comfortable with her silenced rifle. Once you have your zombie killing weapon of choice, it's hard to part with it. I kept both swords. One of my rules was to have two reliable weapons with you at all times, and I passed that rule onto my squad. Now most of us have an emergency gun strapped to the inside of our hoodies, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who showers with it, too.

I was glad to see Quinn Fabray with a machete. If there was one thing I'd learned from dating Quinn in our junior year of high school, it was that she was both fierce and resourceful. And scary, if needs be. We'd all feared that the friends we never found were dead, but some part of me believed that Quinn was a survivor. Still, the last place I'd expected to find her was in a donut store. There was so much to say, so much to explain to her, but for now, we stayed silent. She lay limp, tired and probably traumatised in the back of Shelby's SUV, her hair clung to her sweat soaked face.

Shelby's knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, clenching her jaw and silently looking onward at the barren road. The three of us were on our way to Akron, while the others stayed behind to continue raiding Lima on their own. Shelby had explained everything to Quinn when we left; how Quinn would be brought to Akron to stay with the Ringwalds until she and Sylvester would decide which squad she should work for.

Because that's what we had to do in The Resistance. Work.

Sylvester said that just because our friends and neighbors were mindless brain-eaters didn't mean that we could slack off. So far, her method has worked well enough.

We all trusted Sylvester, no matter how any of us felt about her in the past. She was the one who rounded us all up and gave us our tasks. Even at a time like this, she made us feel like we had a purpose and a goal. She split us all up into four squads. The Molly Ringwald Squad stayed centred in Akron and took care of all of the little kids, including my brother and sister. The Judd Nelson Squad circled around Ohio and killed every zombie in sight. The Anthony Michael Hall Squad stationed themselves in the Akron Medical Centre and studied the infection. Our squad, the Rob Lowe squad, or the Robbers, as Ms. Holliday thoughtfully called it, moved from town to town to raid every house, store and restaurant in sight.

The thing is, raiding whole towns takes a long time. We barely got through Findlay, and stored everything we found in storage spaces in Akron, before we moved to Lima. If only we'd gone to Lima first. Maybe then, I wouldn't have had to kill Brittany Pierce.

"Is there anything to drink?"

Shelby and I both seemed to wake out of deep thoughts when we heard Quinn speak a coherent sentence for the first time since she saw her roommate die just over an hour ago. I leaned down to pick up a bottle of water from the floor of the passenger's seat and tossed it back to Quinn. We knew how important it would prove to be to stock up on water. Several storage spaces in Akron were simply full of bottled water. Quinn took long, hungry gulps from the bottle and then left it at her side, looking distracted and thoughtful.

"How long until Akron?" I asked Shelby.

"About forty five minutes," she said quietly, her mind somewhere else.

Everyone's mind was somewhere else these days. Most of us had lost our families, but when you're stuck in a tragic situation, the entire group of people who help you survive and stay sane become your new family. Before the outbreak, I didn't think much about the people I'm with now. They were just people I knew. Acquaintances. But now, I'll be damned if Shelby Corcoran wasn't like a mother to me. Sure, the turn of events had given her hard edges and a cold exterior, but she was as maternal as ever. She cut my hair and made us dinner and stuck a bullet between the eyes of any undead motherfucker who got in our way.

Pardon my French Canadian. The swearing is something I picked up from Ms. Holliday. While Shelby is the reluctant mother of our motley crew, it must mean that Ms. 'For-The-Last-Time,-Call-Me-Holly' Holliday is the fun, emotional aunt. Honestly, I've never seen anyone take to a zombie apocalypse as well as Ms. Holliday has. Between the sneaking and the stealing, she tries to have as much fun as humanly possible. Shelby complains that she wastes our time by stocking up on alcohol and designer heels, but Ms. Holliday says that if she doesn't get her Smirnoff and Louboutins, she doesn't have much of a will to live – and I believe her. Too bad that it goes against one of my rules: heels and liquor are not your friend.

I wondered now how the rest of them were doing, alone back in Lima. The town seemed deserted enough, but you were never safe in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. With Ms. Holliday's carefree and often sloppy demeanor, the responsibility was really left to Blaine, Jesse and Jennifer. Blaine had a strong attachment to his baseball bat - supposedly because it belonged to his older brother who had no need for it now - but in a sizeable pack of zombies, a slugger could only do so much damage. As Blaine was the youngest of our group - even if just by a year - he was looked after by everyone. Although I never really cared for him when we were in high school together, that had changed. He is as good as family now.

When we found Jesse St. James protecting his home in Akron, I was mystified as to why he stuck so faithfully to a golf club, of all things. That is, until I saw him swing it. Apparently Jesse's dad took him on countless golf trips throughout his life, whether it was competitive or with potential clients, and Jesse had picked up impressive skills. His talent for golf was now used to dismantle a zombie's jaw in one swift motion, or to jam into their eye sockets and tear apart their skulls from the inside. It was a sight to see. Too bad Jesse complained constantly about the debris that followed.

Still, with baseball bats and golf clubs and crowbars, it was the girl with the longsword who had the best chance. How Jennifer St. James ended up with a goddamn longsword is beyond me. All we know about Jenny is that she was in an Akron rehabilitation centre when the outbreak started and had fought her way out and made it to her parent's house where she found her younger brother. Rumor has it that she was in rehab for an addiction to Ritalin, and possibly for an eating disorder, but no one really knew. Jennifer doesn't do a lot of talking.

I was knocked out of my thoughts once again when I felt the car jerk slightly as it started to swerve and sway off of the road. I turned to my side to see that the driver's seat was empty and Shelby had disappeared.

"Shit!" I muttered to myself and lunged forward to steady the steering wheel.

Quinn was sitting upright in the backseat, her mouth wide open and her brow wrinkled with confusion; I shimmied into the driver's seat and took control of the hefty Jeep.

"Where's Shelby?" Quinn demanded, shocked.

I clenched my jaw and kept my eye on the road as I slowed down and pulled over on the empty highway. I put my hand to my temple and looked out the window, as if Shelby would be waiting there to apologise and continue driving to Akron. Of course, she wasn't.

"Sam!" Quinn persisted, "Answer me!"

I sighed and turned around to her. What was I supposed to say?

"Where's Shelby?" she asked again, calmer, but still breathing heavily.

"Gone," I said simply, and chewed my thick bottom lip, "I don't know how to explain it."

Quinn raised a blond eyebrow at me. "Try."

"Quinn... Have you seen anything weird happen in the past six weeks?"

Quinn looked incredulous. "Anything _weird_? What, like _zombies _or like Shelby disappearing into _thin air_?"

I sighed. "Don't tell anyone."

"Don't tell anyone? Sam, what would I even say? I have no idea what's going on!" Quinn shouted.

"Shelby disappears sometime. She just, poofs, and goes somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?"

I pursed my lips. "I really shouldn't talk about it. You should ask her when she gets back."

"When will she come back?"

"I'm not sure," I replied, "I only saw it happen once before, when the two of us were raiding a gas station. She just disappeared, and I was freaking out, but ten minutes later she reappeared right where she had been before."

Quinn's mouth hung open and she stared at me, unsure of what to believe. "Where did she go?" she asked, quieter than she needed to be.

"I shouldn't talk about it, Quinn," I said, turning back to stare out of the windshield.

I heard Quinn's car door open and close, and I turned back to see her walk out and stand at the edge of the highway, looking out into the horizon at a bunch of industrial buildings in the distance. Her shoulders rose up and down as she breathed heavily and rhythmically. I opened my own door and swung my legs around, staring out at her. She'd lost weight in the past six weeks. Most of us had, as well, but she looked frail and malnourished. After a few long moments, she turned back and walked over to me, leaning against my car door and staring at me with so much genuine sorrow in her green eyes that it made me uncomfortable.

"Do I need to know? Will it affect me, or can I ignore it?" she asked candidly.

I thought about it. "Given the fact that Shelby 'poofs' every once in awhile, I have a feeling other people will eventually find out about it and demand to know where she goes, so, I'm sure you'll find out sooner or later. I just think that maybe she should be the one to tell you. If I say it... It'll just sound stupid."

Quinn pursed her pink lips and breathed through her nose, her green eyes wandering away again, until they stopped suddenly at a point in the distance. Her body went rigid.

"Sam…" she said, quietly alert.

I looked in the same direction and saw them. There was a pack of zombies, five or six, not so much moving together, but alongside each other. They were were moving towards us, appearing from behind the corner of what looked like a factory storage space.

"Get in the car," I said, and closed my door.

Quinn ran over to the passenger's seat and buckled herself in for what was sure to be a bumpy ride. We rolled our windows up and I revved the engine, waiting for the zombies to get near enough on their jerky, awkward legs. Their mouths were open, anticipating some young blond lunch, staring at us with their vacant expressions. They got nearer and nearer until Quinn yelled, "Go!"

Another rule for killing a zombie? If you're going to crush a pack of them with a sports utility vehicle, be thorough. One hit and run isn't going to do it. You need to drive back and over until your twenty inch tires have grinded them into sticky zombie paste. There will almost always be one brazen sucker who crawls onto the hood, but as long as you've attained a car with a resistant windshield, if you lurch back and forward, the zombie will eventually get shaken off or crack its head against the window. It's not pretty.

Quinn frowned miserably as we stopped the car with a pale of flattened zombie mush behind us.

"I have a feeling I'm not going to be going to Yale in the Fall," she said aloud.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Are you kidding? You'll ace Introduction to Zombie Combat."

Quinn smirked. "Nothing's ever going to be the same," she said, almost talking to herself, she sounded so absentminded.

"It'll all be over someday. It has to be."

"Do you really believe that?"

I nodded. "Zombies gotta be gone someday. Right?"

Quinn shrugged. "Even if Ohio is rid of zombies, do you really think this will ever really be over? I mean, I've heard the stories of soldiers who came home, but the war never really left them. Look at you, Sam. You're like a warrior, now. You're not just some cute, quietly nerdy ex-stripper. You're fighting in a war. And look at me... I killed my mom, Sam."

I blinked at Quinn, the sorrow in her eyes becoming more and more understandable. "She was infected?"

Quinn nodded. "I killed her and I didn't even..." Quinn trailed off, not quite sure what she was about to say, "I just watched my best friend get cut in half."

I flinched. I knew it wasn't my fault that Brittany had to die, but it still didn't feel right that I had been the one who sliced through her body. I killed Quinn's best friend. I killed Santana's girlfriend. Oh, God, Santana...

"It's not your fault," Quinn said, quickly, "If you hadn't been there-"

"I know," I said, gruffly, "Just... It's different, when it's someone you don't know. Then, they're just zombies. Mindless, nameless corpses. That was _Brittany_."

Quinn nodded, tears filling her eyes and threatening to run down her pale face. "I was supposed to protect her," Quinn said so quietly that I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear that or not.

"It's not your fault, either," I said to her, "Even after everything... All I can think of is how glad I am that Mercedes got out. It's selfish"

Quinn looked surprised. "She got out?"

"Yeah. She drove down to LA during the first week of summer. I was supposed to meet her down there a few weeks ago, but, you know..."

"That doesn't make you selfish, Sam. You loved her. You _love _her," Quinn made a point of saying.

"I wonder what people on the outside are thinking."

"Outside?"

"Outside the border."

Quinn stared blankly at me.

"You haven't seen the border?" I asked.

"No," she said, her brow wrinkling again. All of a sudden, she gasped as her eyes froze at my window, and I turned around to see Shelby standing there, looking breathless. I opened the door of the driver's seat and got out, not taking my eyes away from her.

"Sam..." she muttered.

"Where did you go?" I asked.

Shelby eyes darted to Quinn who was watching from inside the car. "I'll tell you later."

"She saw you poof, you know? You're going to have to tell other people about your problem—"

"Sam, not now," she said authoritatively, "Please."

I nodded, submissive, and held the driver's seat door open for her to continue our drive to Akron.


	3. Good News and Bad News

**Puck**

I lot can happen in six weeks. Fuck, a lot can happen in an hour.

Just an hour ago, Santana and I were goofin' around at the back of Coach Beiste's truck, talking about the good old days that didn't seem so good when we were livin' in 'em. We couldn't help but laugh at ourselves. Back then, even just a couple months ago, we woulda killed to be anywhere but school, getting sneers from the same sour teachers and bitter smiles from the same two-faced classmates.

These days, we had dreams about going back there.

I'd give my left nut to be in the choir room one more time and have Schuester write something on his whiteboard that the rest of us would just roll our eyes at.

Then again, things in the fallout didn't suck too much, but maybe that's just my desperate inner optimist talkin'. I have a purpose here. I'm a badass - a real badass. I kill zombies left and right and I'm good at it. Spectacular, actually. I'm the most valuable asset in my ass-kickin' squad, and not one of my squad members would deny that. Even Santana. I can do things that make killing zombies - or anyone - a picnic. Coach Sylvester likes me a lot more since she found out about my ability. To her, I'm not just some punch spikin' hoodlum anymore. I'm important.

And it's more than feeling like a somebody that has me in high spirits. My little sister is alive. Beth is alive. Shelby is alive. This is something I hold on to, even if I don't get to see them very often. Most of the time, us Nelsons are circling Akron and even some of the towns around it, just lookin' for zombies to kill. That's our job, see. We're like the law. Something I never thought I'd belong to.

When we aren't killin' zombies, we're chillin' in whatever empty hotel or abandoned apartment we feel like. Our squad likes to bunk together. Something about being in the middle of a zombie apocalypse makes you really enjoy the company of people whose blood is still pumpin' through their veins. Coach Sylvester usually likes to roll on her own, ahead of the rest of us, but that's just her thing. She's a leader - _the_ leader - and she gets the kind of respect other world leaders could only dream about.

And then there's Coach Beiste. If I called her Sylvester's second-in-command, she'd probably shoot me dead, so I'm just gonna say she's like a second leader. A lot more stoic than Sylvester and a lot more quiet than she used to be, but a leader all the same. She meant a lot to me before any of this even started, but now... I know what they say in zombie movies. Don't get too attached to people, in case something happens to them. But those directors and writers don't know shit, because when it comes to getting attached to people when it looks like the world's close to ending, it's totally out of your hands. Beiste is the badass role model I never had and if anything were to happen to her, I don't know what I'd do to myself.

Same goes for Lopez. She's like a sister to me. Wait, no, scratch that. If she was my sister, it'd be seriously wrong how much I think about how smokin' hot she is. Sue me, okay? I've spent the last six weeks lookin' at the same four faces, and when your squad is two parts masculine middle-aged women, one part gay dude and one part sexy Latin chick, you tell me who I should be lookin' at the most, 'kay?

Oh, yeah, the one part gay dude? That's someone I never thought I'd rely on as much as I do now. Dave Karofsky. He used to be some total dickhead who messed with my boy Kurt, but when we all learned the truth about Dave's real feelings... well, some of us were more surprised than others. Still, the fact that Dave turned out to be totally pro dudelovers didn't matter a whole lot to me. He still put Kurt through Hell and that was not okay with us glee club guys.

Now, though, things are different. We all care about Dave. He's got this... somethin', you know? When I visited the Ringwalds and tried to explain it to Rachel, she said it was a 'je ne sais quoi'. I don't know what the Hell that means, but I do know that when Dave's around, people feel a little more at ease. When we fight with him, we don't feel scared. We feel victorious. When we're afraid of what the future might bring, Dave just makes us feel better. Don't ask me what happened to him. That dude used to be so full of negativity. Now, he's as full of light as freakin' Jesus.

So things don't suck _too_ much. They could always be worse, I guess. Santana and I laughed at each other at the back of Beiste's truck and thought about how things might not actually be that bad. How maybe they would actually get better. But, like I said, a lot could change in an hour.

Santana had fallen to the ground. Just let her knockin' knees give in and lay there, her chest heavy. Dry, choking sobs escaped her lips. We were outside a lodge hotel in an area that used to be a nice enough neighborhood before the zombies came, with our cars parked outside. We'd been getting ready to leave again and raid another place, then maybe drop by the Ringwalds and visit the littles for lunch, when Sylvester had gotten the call from a military-grade walkie talkie - we'd gotten used to using them after all our cell phones stopped working. She nodded her head as she listened intently, and looked up at the rest of us, solemnly saying that she had news.

That's how Santana ended up on the ground, sobbing, muttering the word, 'no,' over and over again. In just one minute, in just one _sentence_, she'd lost every single thing she'd been fighting and hoping for. Both Dave and Beiste's eyes were overwhelmed with silent tears, and Sylvester just turned her back, breathing rhythmically. And I just stood there, feeling like a selfish bastard, because all I could think about was the good news.

Brittany may have been dead, but Quinn was alive. And I needed to see her. Santana feverishly wiped her face with her sleeve and stood up, promptly walking away, down the road.

"Let her go," Beiste said to me, seeing that I was poised to run after her, "David..."

Dave nodded and walked calmly after Santana. I hated the fact that he could comfort her and I couldn't, but I set aside my feelings.

"Damn," Beiste said under her breath.

I knew how she felt. Santana had held hope in her heart this whole time that Brittany was alive. She threatened again and again to go to Lima herself to search for her, but the Robbers promised they'd look. Well, they found her too late. Now, none of us were sure if Santana would have any will to fight. Or any will to live.

"Where's Quinn?" I asked, after several long moments.

"Shelby's driving her to Akron, to stay with the Ringwalds until we can find a place for her," Sylvester answered quickly. She was probably as happy as I was that Quinn was alive, but we didn't want to show it, out of respect for Brittany. The fact that she was really dead made me sick to my stomach.

"Can I see her?" I asked, my heart thudding against my chest.

Sue nodded. "We'll all go to Akron tonight and take the day off," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Sue, "I'll tell the Robbers to join us there for dinner. And the AMH. What do you think?"

"It'll be like a family dinner," said Beiste, almost getting choked up, "We can all say a few words about Ms. Pierce."

"That sounds almost nice," I said, and wondered how well Dave was calming Santana, or if he was at all. "We should take out some stuff from storage space. Go to that giant freezer space and get some meat. I'm so sick of jerky."

Beiste smiled nostalgically. "We oughta have chicken."

Sylvester put her hands on her hips. I knew that look. This meant business. "We'll get the Ringwalds to organize what everyone likes. The Robbers will pick up the ingredients and when we're all together, anyone who can cook, will," she said, adding with a sigh, "It's a good idea to keep Lopez and Karofsky together. She's a good kid. I don't want her to shut down like Handsome Squidward."

Beiste and I nodded in agreement. I hated the idea that Santana could become as grief stricken and near catatonic as Mr. Schuester.

"What should we do now?" I asked Sylvester for guidance.

She exhaled through her nose. "Puckerman, you go to the Ringwalds and explain the situation. Beiste and I will wait here for Lopez and Karofsky."

I nodded respectfully, and took my silenced, pump-action shotgun from the passenger seat of Beiste's car and slung her around my shoulder. That shotgun was the first thing I stole from a firearms store when the outbreak started, and she was one of my best friends. I call her Jackie.

"Puckerman?" said Sylvester.

I turned back. "Yeah?"

"... Don't waste time," she said, meaningfully.

I nodded and was on my way. Not two minutes later, I reached my destination. A childcare centre on Fountain Street. This preschool was almost as big as McKinley High, and clearly for tots with douchey upper class parents. The Ringwalds had set up beds and stuff in the classrooms and made it their permanent centre. The doors and windows were always locked, and yet I kept it in mind to ask Sylvester if the Ringwalds could have one more adult in the building for protection. Those were innocent kids in there and they needed more than two chicks and a dude who was mostly haircare product.

I took out my walkie talkie and switched it to the Ringwald's station.

"Mrs. Mike, this is Noah Puckerman, do you copy?" I asked into it, standing outside of the Ringwald centre with my shotgun.

The walkie-talkie crackled. "I copy, Noah. You can call me Julia, you know. Or at least Mrs. Chang."

"At least it's a step-up from Mrs. Mike's Mom. Over."

Mike's mom chuckled on the other line. "That true. What is it, Noah? Over."

"I'm outside the centre," he said, "Can I come in? I got some good news and some bad news."

"Sure, I'll let you in in a second. Put your gun on safety."

I put my gun on safety and stood close to the entrance, hearing the quiet sounds of keys and bolts on the other side of the door sliding unlocked. The hard metal locks had been added by Sylvester. Even she agreed that the safety of the littles was the most important priority. Even though she thought that, she never did like to spend a lot of time with the kids. She preferred avoiding them altogether. Rachel says it must be because of the baby she lost, but I never wanted to ask. The door opened and Mike's mom smiled warmly at me, quickly ushering me in and locking the door again.

"It's nice to see you again, Noah," said Julia, "What's the news?"

"Where are the others? I should probably tell you all at the same time."

"The children, too?" she asked.

"No," I shook my head, "No, not the kids."

Julia frowned, obviously not looking forward to the bad news.

"They're all in the playroom," she said, and started to walk down the hallway, the walls lined with artwork made by a bunch of little kids we didn't know and probably never would. We walked through an open door in the end of the hall and into a playroom that was full of soft, pastel pillows in different shapes strewn across the floor and a number of toys that would have made Toys 'R Us pale in comparison. Julia and I smiled at the ragtag group of them playing on the floor.

Beth was resting her head of blondish curls against a purple pillow shaped like a snail. Stacy Evans, Sam's shy little sister, sat quietly beside Beth, with a wool sweater that was a few sizes too big for the seven-year-old draped over her. She looked like she could be a future version of Beth with the same curly blond hair and big brown eyes. The two girls sat quietly and listened to Rachel singing some song that sounded like it was from a Disney movie, but I didn't really recognise.

The other four kids could never be that quiet. Sam and Stacy's brother, Stevie, was mature for his age, but that didn't stop him from being a nine-year-old boy. The same went for my ten-year-old sister, Connie. Her dark brown hair bounced as wildly as she did. The other two kids were Wes Brody, a cute kid about Stevie and Connie's age, who we found in Lima, and a kid no-one knew named Hunter, who was four and found right here in the preschool. The four of them were jumping and laughing and cheering wildly as they threw dozens of stuffed animals at Cooper Anderson. Cooper pretended to shy away from their riotous attack, and then threw Wes over his shoulder with a theatrical roar. Sure, Blaine's big Hollywood bro was mostly product, but he was also pretty awesome. At least, with kids.

Julia cleared her throat, and Rachel and Cooper looked her way. Cooper put Wes down gently, looking curious, and Rachel smiled warmly when she saw me, standing up and smoothing down her skirt.

"Kids, can you spend five minutes on your own? I need to talk to Ms. Rachel and Mr. Cooper alone, okay?" Julia asked the kids.

"Noah!" Connie cried and ran towards me, launching herself at me and squeezing into my hug, her head thudding into my ribcage.

"Hey, Conman," I smirked, "Listen, I gotta talk to the dudes right now, but I'll be back in a second, and we'll hang out all day, okay?"

"Promise?" she asked, staring up at me with her big brown eyes.

"I promise, kid," I smiled down at her, and removed her arms from around my waist.

"Be good!" Rachel said to the kids, and she and Cooper joined us in the hallway.

"What's going on?" asked Cooper, as Julia walked away, leading us all into the next classroom where the kids wouldn't hear us talking.

"I have some news," I said, as they all stared at me, "Good news and bad news."

All of them looked solemn.

"Bad news, first," said Rachel.

I pursed my lips. "...Brittany Pierce is dead."

Cooper and Julia looked politely unhappy, but Rachel was really the only one who knew what this meant.

"Oh God," she said, looking down at the floor and putting a dainty hand to her chest, "Santana..."

"She was infected," I said, repeating what Sylvester had told us, "Sam had to kill her."

"Oh my God," Rachel breathed.

"That's horrible," sighed Julia.

I nodded and avoided their sympathetic eyes. "Well... At least there's good news, too."

"What?" asked Rachel, still looking distraught.

"Quinn's alive," I said, exhaling the words.

Again, only Rachel could really know just how important this was. Quinn was special to me, but she was special to Rachel, too.

"Oh my God," Rachel repeated, tears coming to her eyes, "Is she okay?"

"I think so," I said, "She's on her way here, with Shelby. She's gonna stay here, okay? At least, until they find a squad she's suited for."

"I'll set up a bed for her," said Julia.

"She can sleep in my room," said Rachel.

"Do you have a kitchen in this place?" I asked.

Julia looked mildly surprised. "Yes. Behind the cafeteria."

"Good. Sylvester wants every squad to meet here tonight, and make a big dinner. The Robbers will bring the food. Whoever knows how to cook can cook it."

All of three of them looked pleasantly surprised by this. Visits from other squads was far and few. Julia looked overwhelmed that she'd get to see her son and I was sure Cooper was itching to see his little brother too. And I knew Rachel wanted to see Quinn again as badly as I did.

"I don't know if many of us can cook," said Julia, "But we'll make it work."

**a/n: Thank you, everyone, who read and reviewed and I hope you like where the story goes. Comments and suggestions are always welcome, and thanks again to the awesome paperstylehearts! Her brilliant horror-fic, Behind Blue Eyes, is highly recommended! Go check it out!**


	4. Metaphorically Speaking

**Rachel**

The old me is gone. Metaphorically speaking.

Yes, of course the heart of the Rachel Berry you all know and love is still more or less intact. I still have the same ambition and leading lady gumption. I am still fiercely talented and exceptionally organized and articulate. I still want to escape to New York. I still love Finn.

But nevertheless, I'm a different person now. For one thing, I gave up being a vegan. When the accessibility of a wide range of food is limited, you can't be too choosy. The first night Mrs. Chang made chicken for all of us, I threw up after eating it. Not on purpose, of course. My gag reflex isn't capable of that. No, apparently I'd gone so long without meat or dairy, that eating chicken with a buttery sauce hadn't agreed with me. I had to ease myself into meat eating after that.

Another way that I've changed is that I've seemed to have become less sensitive. I've convinced myself that that's a good thing. Rising above such a difficult situation has given me some character, and it would do me good someday. I am now very capable and responsible, especially now that I have children to look after. If I'm being completely honest, the reason that I decided to stay with the Ringwalds was because I was afraid to go out with the other squads. Killing zombies or sneaking around on raids is not as easy as Noah or Sam make it look.

Still, even though I've come to really know and love the children, I still can't help but be a little jealous of Cooper Anderson. Not just because he's an excellent performer and looks like a Calvin Klein model, but because he's so effortlessly good with kids. I've babysat before, but there's some extra wisdom that comes with having been a big brother for almost eighteen years. The same goes for Mrs. Chang, who is not just a sister, but a mother. It's needless to say that in this particular situation, I have the least experience.

For the first week, I cried every day and night. It was just the beginning of The Resistance, when Sue Sylvester was trying to figure out what to do with everyone. Most of the time I had found myself in sorrowful denial of everything that had happened. I've lost so much, and I'm not being dramatic. I had lost my fathers. I had lost my best friend, Kurt Hummel. I had lost Tina. In a way, we had all lost Mr. Schuester. Finn, at least, was safely out of Ohio and recruited in the army when all of this happened. Still, he was lost to me. That's why, when I heard that Quinn Fabray was alive and on her way to Akron, it mattered so much more than I had ever imagined, because she was one more thing that I didn't have to lose.

Of course, it's not like I don't have people who I care about - and who care about me - here in The Resistance. Cooper and I get along well enough, even though most of our conversations ended up in a debate about Hollywood versus Broadway. Mrs. Chang is always the caregiver; she looked after us all. But my real friends - my best friends - were always out on the road, either raiding with the Robbers, or fighting with the Nelsons. Their visits meant so much to me. We were all so much closer now than we were before.

Noah's visits especially, have a positive effect on me. He spends most of his time with Beth and Connie, of course, but when we put them to bed, he spends a large portion of the night with me. We talk for hours, about almost every subject we can think of. He's funny and passionate, and most of all, he doesn't treat me like I'm an annoying know-it-all. Things really do change after high school.

I'm even on good terms with Dave Karofsky. I used to detest him when he was a bully at McKinley, especially for his relentless torture of my best friend Kurt, but now, he was a changed man. He had a certain je ne sais quoi these days. Wherever he went, he brought a calming effect along with him.

Blaine's visits were another high point of my new life. Blaine and I have been good friends since he started dating Kurt over a year ago. Since our boyfriends were step brothers, we spent a sizeable amount of time together at the Hudson-Hummel residence. I fondly remember a small amount of time when I had a crush on Blaine, and he had a crush on me. Of course, that went nowhere. For obvious reasons.

In the small, modern kitchen, behind the cafeteria of the preschool, I was given the task of chopping carrots for one of the many meals Mrs. Chang planned on making. Meanwhile, Cooper was entertaining the children in one of the playrooms. We were still waiting for the rest of the Rob Lowe Squad to arrive with more food from within the many storage lots and freezer spaces they claimed in Akron. I snapped my attention to Mrs. Chang when I heard the walkie talkie clipped to her hip crackle.

"Julia, it's Shelby," I heard Shelby say, her voice tiny through the device, "I'm outside with Sam and Quinn. Over."

"Okay, Shelby," Julia said in her walkie talkie, "I'll open up in just a second. Over."

My heart sped up in my chest and I followed Mrs. Chang out of the kitchen and towards the entrance of the centre. I stood eagerly behind her and peered over her shoulder as she opened the door. Shelby was there, looking ominous as always, and Julia opened the door wide to let her in. As she stalked by, she was followed by Sam, who was like a loyal puppy, and then Quinn. I blinked at the girl several times, hardly recognizing her. She was tired and sweaty and her yellow hair was stringy, tied up in a loose, messy ponytail.

"Rachel," she breathed, looking almost pained to see me. She threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around me, surprising me with her force. The only times I'd ever hugged her back in high school, she'd been the one to stand limp and politely pat me on the back. Now, she was holding onto me like a child, one arm wrapped around my waist, and one on the back of my head as if holding me in place. For several moments, I was rigid with surprise. Then, I hugged her tighter, wrapping my arms around her slim frame and laying my head against her cold, damp shoulder.

"We should give them a moment," I heard Shelby say as Quinn's shoulders started to bob up and down, and I felt her tears trickled onto my neck. I heard the others walking away, my head still burrowed into Quinn's neck. It felt like a long time until her grip on mine slackened and she pulled back, her eyes red rimmed and her face tear streaked. I was surprised to find that my face was wet, too. I hadn't even realized I'd been crying.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her tears and attempting to laugh, "I'm such a mess."

"We all are," I shrugged, with a lousy smirk.

"I need a shower," she sighed, embarrassed.

"We have to go to the next building to shower. It's a house. We would stay there, but it's not really big enough for all the kids."

Quinn nodded. "I didn't even realize how much I missed you," she sighed, blinking tears out of her eyes.

I nodded back, because I understood. "I'm so sorry. About Brittany..."

"Have you seen Santana?"

"Not yet," I said, and lowered my head. I felt extremely guilty in that moment. When she mentioned Santana, my first emotion wasn't empathetic grief for the classmate who had lost her girlfriend, but jealousy that when she came, it would be her that Quinn gave her attention to. I shook my head at myself. People wouldn't expect that of me; wanting to steal the attention from a girl in grief.

It's just that I've been wondering for so long if I'd ever see Quinn again. Now, she was here and I wanted her to stay here, with me, for as long as possible. I hoped with all my heart that she'd stay with the Ringwalds.

**Quinn**

I wiped the hot tears from my face as Rachel kept her gaze fixed on the floor. We were both going to see Santana tonight for the first time since she was told the news about Brittany's death. We both knew tonight's gathering was going to be tense.

"Where are the kids?" I asked Rachel. I couldn't help but notice that while the rest of us had traded in our clothes for darker, simpler options, Rachel still decked herself in argyle, preppy miniskirts and clunky Mary Janes. Old habits die hard.

She looked up at me and smiled awkwardly. "The playroom. Follow me."

I followed her through the impressive preschool and to a wide, colorful, dazzling children's playroom complete with plush animals, mobiles dangling from the ceiling and eclectic artwork lining the walls. Cooper Anderson, Sam and Puck were in the midst of a small crowd of kids, wielding foamy toy swords and making comical war cries. A smile broke out on my face as I watched them play, not just because of how relieving and heartwarming it was to see children so happy at a time like this, but also because I was seeing Noah Puckerman for the first time in six weeks.

"Puck…" I finally said. Although the word came out as barely a murmur, he heard me and looked up, his face falling. He strode forward past the kids and looked me up and down a moment, before throwing one arm over my waist and lifting me in a crushing hug. When he set me back down, I could swear I saw tears cling to his eyelashes. Sam and Rachel watched us with indistinguishable expressions, until they politely looked away and turned their attention to the children. Puck and I stood awkwardly near the door.

"I missed you," said Puck, "We all missed you."

I smiled politely. Before any of this happened at the start of our summer vacation, Puck and I had left things a little... TBA. As the father of my baby, I knew he would always be an important part of my life, but so many more feelings had gathered when we graduated from McKinley. I remember Rachel had said to me in the girl's bathroom that she always though Puck and I would end up together. That I brought out the best in him. Truthfully, I had been thinking the same thing. I helped him study for his SATs and I had kissed him.

Still, even after that... It had been over a month since I had seen him. So much happened. So many deaths and tragedies and changes. Could we really just pick up where we left off?

"Do you want to see Beth?" he asked, looking up at me with big, childish eyes. I nodded with a stiff smile and let him lead me to my daughter. Well, Shelby's daughter.

She had grown some since I last saw her. She was a little taller, her sandy blond curls were a little longer and she sat upright herself and played with a bunch of soft toys. Puck sat down beside her and scooped her little body into his arms. She looked up at him and reached her pale, pudgy little hand for his face, gurgling contentedly. I kneeled beside them and watched her vacantly. I remembered how the first time I held Beth, it had been like she blissfully belonged in my arms. Like she was a perfect, loving and loved part of me. The second time I met her, she was over a year old and the effect had lessened. It wasn't that Beth was perfect or beautiful or amazing. She just wasn't mine.

"Do you want to hold her?" asked Puck.

I shook my head and waved my hand at him. "No, thank you," I said politely, "She likes you."

"She likes everyone," Puck shrugged with a smirk, "Go on. Hold her."

I pursed my lips and reluctantly held on as Puck placed her in my arms.

"Hey, Beth," I said, softly and uncertainly, stiff with discomfort. What was wrong with me? I used to be a babysitter and a damn good one. I had tamed the devilish Giardi triplets. I had helped Sam care for his younger siblings countless times when his parents were working second jobs.

Beth could clearly sense how uncomfortable I was, holding her at an awkward angle, and began to cry.

"She doesn't like me," I said, defeated, "Puck, take her."

"Beth," he leaned forward, making a duck face at her, "Beth, don't cry. It's Quinn, Bethy. You know Quinn."

Beth continued to whinge, her face getting red, until suddenly she disappeared. Not with a pop or a poof, but just gone in the blink of an eye.

"Wha..." I breathed, staring down at my empty arms, "What... Where is she?"

Puck blinked at me, his brow furrowed with alarmed confusion. "I... Beth" He spun around and looked at the others. Sam, Rachel and Cooper just stood there among the other kids and stared at me - or more accurately, at the absence of Beth. The kids stared, too, but most of them seemed bewildered and almost amused, as if I had conducted some unexpected magical trick.

"Holy shit," slipped out of Cooper's mouth.

A boy I recognized as a friend of Brittany's little sister gasped. "Mr. Cooper said a bad word," he said, scandalized.

Puck and I looked at each other, speechless. We both got up and sprinted out of the hallway, our eyes peeled and our hearts racing. Not a second later, Shelby appeared from around the corner with Beth in her arms, clinging to her and sucking her little pink thumb.

"Beth," Puck sighed, relieved.

"What happened?" I asked, staring intently at Shelby who looked suspiciously nervous. People were doing disappearing acts a lot more often than should be possible: never.

"I guess Beth must have crawled out of the playroom to find me," said Shelby, blinking back at me with too much hidden meaning behind her eyes.

"She was just... She was there and then she was gone," Puck babbled.

Shelby forced a smirk on her face. "Well, she's here. Don't worry; you just gotta keep an eye on her. She's a quick little busy bee," she made a funny face at her daughter.

"We had our eyes on her," I frowned at Shelby, "We all did."

Shelby flinched just a little at that remark. "Well, you don't need to worry about it. You guys go back to the playroom. I'll keep Beth with me. She can spend some time with her mama."

I frowned bitterly. I didn't like Shelby for a lot of reasons and she wasn't making it any better. Sure, she was a good mother to Beth, and that I have learned to accept, but that didn't make her a good person. For one thing, she cut all of her ties from her real daughter, Rachel. Rachel didn't miss her much, but still, how much could it sting when your birth mother doesn't even want to invite you to dinner once in awhile? For another thing, she had an affair with Puck last year, while she was a substitute teacher for our school, nonetheless. It was probably more my jealousy than the actual severity of the situation that made me try to get Shelby fired. Regardless, I didn't like her.

And now that she was keeping secrets - and she _was _keeping secrets - I only liked her less. Maybe Puck and Sam and the others liked her enough to stand by while she glossed over weird occurrences like they were nothing, but I wasn't about to let her do the same to me. No, Shelby would hear about this.

**a/n: Thank you to everyone who's still reading and reviewing. This fic picks up where the first three canon seasons left off, so all the canon pairings have happened. I'll probably explore Quinn/Puck, because of the way they left things off in 'Goodbye', but I'm undecided when it comes to anyone else. Whether anyone not yet mentioned is dead, alive or infected will be revealed later on in the story. Thanks again! Please review!**


	5. The Abercrombie Zombie

**Brad**

Before the outbreak, I was known for watching. I still am.

I didn't do much today at dinner, but watch. No one said much to me. That's not out of the ordinary. I arrived with the healer and the ghost. So many people were greeting the blond who had been lost, but I could tell she didn't want them around her, so I decided against it. However, I got a good look at her later on that day and was surprised by what I saw. Not the hollow blond from before. The key.

She was the key. Somehow.

**Quinn**

The people seemed to come in floods.

Before, I would have longed to seen an eager crowd of the people I knew and loved, alive no less, but right now, it was making my stomach turn wildly. It was too much, especially after everything that had happened just this morning. It was barely the afternoon, and already Brittany had died, I had been taken to a new home and something alarmingly strange was going on with Shelby, and even Beth. And now, all of these people were around, greeting me and hugging me and wanting to know where I was. How could I blame them?

Holly Holliday had given me a crushing embrace, just because she was affectionate like that and not necessarily because we had ever liked each other. Jesse St. James had just smirked and nodded curtly, steering away with the girl who was apparently his sister, Jennifer. Blaine had hugged me again, tight, before he left to find his older brother. My heart had leaped to see Coach Sylvester, and she had shaken my hand and pulled me into a hug. Even Coach Beiste gave me a crushing bear hug and kept saying how glad she was that I was alive, promising they'd take good care of me here.

Mike Chang had arrived later, with Brad, our glee club piano player, and Mr. Schuester behind him. Mike had pulled me off my feet into a hug before turning his attention to his mother, and over his shoulder I watched Brad saunter away. That didn't surprise me. I didn't know him well. I wasn't sure if I'd ever even heard him speak. It was Mr. Schuester who stunned me. He was one of the people I was genuinely ecstatic to see alive, but he just glanced at me and wandered away, his face unshaven and dark circles around his eyes. I was taken aback to see him so indifferent. He had meant so much to me as a teacher. He meant so much to all of us. Why did he care so little now?

Julia had shooed the others away, and it was just Mike and I helping her cook in the kitchen. Holly, Jesse, Jennifer and Blaine had brought along grocery bags of ingredients that had apparently been stored away in freezers and storage spaces. Cuts of frozen meat and carrots - apparently carrots lasted a long time - and spices, canned goods, desserts. Julia was even putting together a vegan dish for Rachel. It took me everything not to stuff the fresh ingredients in my mouth instead of making them into a meal.

I stirred a pot of spaghetti sauce as Mike helped his mother put together some dim sum. The two were quiet, although being at each other's sides put them in better spirits. It seemed that they were all each other had left now, with Tina and Mr. Chang gone. I wondered what had happened to them, not really wanting to know. The fates of so many of our friends were undetermined.

"Is Mr. Schuester... okay?" I wondered aloud.

Mike and Julia turned to me, surprised, and then glanced awkwardly at each other, Julia's eyes prodding Mike to explain.

"He's not doing so good," Mike sighed.

"He's not sick, is he?" I asked, trying to hide my alarm. All I could think of all day in the back of my mind was how Brittany didn't have one bite on her and still, she had turned into a zombie.

"No," said Mike, "Depressed. Ms. Pillsbury didn't make it out... alive."

"Oh," I said quietly. I didn't want to pry anymore.

Mrs. Chang's walkie talkie crackled.

"Julia, it's Dave. I'm outside with Santana. Over," came the voice of Dave Karofsky over Julia's walkie talkie, sounding a little anxious.

"I'll be right there, David," said Julia, "Over."

"Santana's here?" I asked, setting down my wooden spoon and wiping my hands on the thin cotton apron Julia had given me.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to see her or not. Santana was one of my best friends, even if we did have a tough go of it during high school. But still, I had been the last person to see her girlfriend alive. Did Santana really want to see me, the woman who couldn't prevent her girlfriend from dying? Brittany was more than Santana's girlfriend. She was her soulmate.

Julia nodded. "Do you want to come see her?"

I bit my lip. "...No."

Julia blinked at me, but nodded as if she understood before leaving the kitchen.

I turned back to my spaghetti sauce, sighing with guilt. Maybe Santana _did _want to see me. Maybe she wanted to talk about Brittany, about our last days together. Maybe I was just being selfish because that was a conversation I didn't want to have. Maybe I was a crappy friend. I tried to put that out of my mind as I turned to Mike, who was busy making dumplings.

"Mike?"

"Yeah?" Even he, who was normally so happy-go-lucky, looked tired and sombre now.

"Have you noticed anything... weird? Lately?" I asked.

Mike set down his dumplings and looked at me, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"Okay," I chuckled, "Dumb question. Have you noticed anything weird about Shelby?"

"No," he said, his brow creasing, "But I don't see Shelby a whole lot. I'm usually at the Akron Medical Centre with Brad and Schuester."

"What do you guys do there?"

"Mr. Schue mostly just wanders around like a ghost, but I'm kind of like Brad's assistant now. He's the one who does all the experiments."

"Experiments?"

"Yeah. On mice and stuff. I don't think he's getting anywhere, though."

"He's trying to find a cure?"

"Yeah. But like I said. Not getting anywhere."

I frowned. "That's too bad."

"What squad do you think you're gonna stay with?"

I shrugged, wondering to myself. It would be nice to stay with the Ringwalds and be able to spend my time with Rachel and even have Beth warm up to me, but I wouldn't really be of much use here. Not that I wasn't a good babysitter, but Julia and Cooper and Rachel seemed to know exactly what they were doing and didn't need much help. I wouldn't be very helpful with AMH, either, where Mike and Brad and Mr. Schuester were apparently stationed. I knew basic high school chemistry, but nothing advanced enough to cure a zombie outbreak. I probably wasn't strong or skilled enough to fight with the Nelsons, but maybe I could fit in with the Robbers. After all, sneaking and looting and defending myself was something I'd gotten good at in the past month and a half.

Mike and I looked up as the kitchen's wide door opened and Dave Karofsky stepped through. I stared at him a moment, registering how much he'd changed. His hair was a little longer, scruffy and sticking out around his ears. Normally, he had such a gruff, defensive look about him, with his big McKinley letterman jacket draped over his broad shoulders. Now, he looked so much softer. His eyes were calm and approachable, as well as the usual weariness everyone else wore.

"Quinn," he nodded politely, his face slightly unshaven, "Good to see you."

He smiled timidly and I couldn't help but smile back. "You too, Dave," I replied, "You look different."

"How's Santana?" asked Mike.

Dave frowned sadly. "Devastated. Of course."

"Do you think she'll shut down on us?" he asked nervously.

I could tell that the emotional collapse of Mr. Schuester had everyone worried and it seemed that losing Santana to depression would be a significant detriment to the Resistance. Clearly, she was an invaluable member.

Dave shook his head and looked both hopeful and concerned. "I'll take care of her. She's getting some rest now."

Mike and I nodded, and I turned back to my spaghetti sauce, grateful I had a reason not to go see her, and feeling like a terrible friend.

**Blaine**

I ran my hands through my thick hair as I watched my brother play with the kids. His new little siblings, I guess. He always was a good brother, when he wasn't picking on me or criticizing me. He was responsible, more or less. He was fun. He was probably the one who gave me my sense of optimism.

So much for that.

These days, it's all I can do to not fall apart. I barely sleep at night, with my eyes wide open under the bed sheets, thinking about everyone that had been left behind. I think about my dead parents, and my old classmates, and Kurt. I think about Kurt so much in so many ways, mainly wondering whether he's alive or dead or... something else. Sometimes I silently hope that he's dead, because at least he'd be at peace. And then I take it back and curse myself and sob, and dream of him alive and singing. I miss his singing.

The other members try to remind me that it's not all bad. They try to lift my spirits and take care of me because they can see how fragile I am. They fear my grief will make me useless. What is it about me that's so pathetic that makes people think I'm going to become a vegetable because I lost my boyfriend? Mike lost his girlfriend. Rachel may never see Finn again. Mrs. Chang's husband is dead. Yet I'm the one my teammates stare at and wonder if I'll be okay or if I'll slowly spiral into near catatonic depression, like Mr. Schuester. I guess they weren't used to seeing me without bow ties and hair gel and an ever present smile. They'll have to get used to it.

Things had changed so suddenly and so drastically. I remember exactly where I was and what I had been thinking when I'd met my first zombie. I had driven to the Westerville Mall at the beginning of the summer and received a text from Kurt that said he was going to be late. I remember clenching my jaw and breathing through my nose in irritation. It wasn't really the fact that Kurt was going to be late. With his beauty regimen, Kurt was late to almost everything. I think I was mostly annoyed because I wanted to be.

After all, I would be stuck in Ohio finishing my last year of high school while my boyfriend was off in New York, meeting cute baristas and chorus boys. Although we were about to embark on a long distance relationship, in my mind, he was leaving me. So I clung to whatever flaw and annoyance I could to distance myself from him so that just maybe I wouldn't be so devastated when he left. The realistic part of me scoffed, '_Good luck with that_'.

I got out of my car and decided to roam the mall until Kurt arrived because I had a feeling I'd be here awhile, and I made a beeline for Abercrombie and Fitch. After all, one could never have too many tight-fitting monogrammed sweaters. I disdainfully reminded myself, as I waded into the dimly lit store, that this was one of Kurt's least favorite designers. He thought all of the clothes were too dull and vanilla.

With a small frown on my face, I browsed through the racks of sweaters and sweater vests, only to look up and see a familiar face leering at me from another corner of the store. Sebastian Smythe looked strange out of his Dalton Academy uniform. He was definitely a fashion savvy guy, looking like the poster boy for Abercrombie and Fitch itself, except clothed.

"Blaine Anderson," he grinned in his predatory way as he sauntered forward, "Where's your girlfriend?"

I frowned at Sebastian. He was just the sly little weasel that Kurt would hate me talking to. I didn't want to know what my boyfriend would do if he saw me in a dark, heavily scented room with Sebastian Smythe. The guy was a sleaze.

"Hello, Sebastian," I said reluctantly, "Kurt should be here soon."

"Still going strong, I see," said Sebastian, a twinkle in his eye, "It's to be expected, what with you two moving to New York together."

I raised a thick eyebrow. "We're not moving to New York together."

"Really?" Sebastian feigned surprise, "Didn't Kurt get into some college? His second choice?"

"He did," I said through gritted teeth, "But I have to finish high school."

"Oh, that's right!" Sebastian gasped dramatically, "So long distance, huh?"

"Uh huh."

"You know what they say about long distance relationships-"

"I know, Sebastian. Can you just leave me alone?"

Sebastian smirked. "Calm down, Blaine. I'm just messing with you. The wood nymph has nothing to be afraid of."

"No, he doesn't," I said with confidence, "You should go. He's gonna be annoyed if he sees me talking to you."

Sebastian laughed out loud. "Whipped, much? Besides, I was here first, Anderson! _I_ have to leave to make your queen happy?!"

I clenched my jaw. "Whatever. I'll leave," I said, before turning on my heel and pacing away.

"Whatever, Blaine. If the long distance relationship doesn't break you up, that stick up your ass will!"

I had frozen and whipped around, ready to defend my relationship with Kurt, even though a part of me said, 'Why bother?', when I had seen it.

"Sebastian!"

"Wh-"

I had pushed Sebastian out of the way of the girl that had lunged for him. She stood there, confused as she grasped at the air where Sebastian had been standing, her teeth bared as she drooled slightly. Her eyes seemed strangely vacant and her skin was a sickly gray, but other than that, she seemed unwounded and even strong. She was tall and fit and dressed like she worked here. She moaned slightly, irritated that Sebastian had moved and turned her dead eyes on me.

The first few steps toward me were more like stumbles and awkward jerks, until she found her footing and began to sprint, a low growl escaping her throat. I ran as fast as I could out of the store and looked wildly around at the mall with this murderous dead girl on my tail. I could hear other customers screaming and running on different levels of the stores and deduced with some horror that I wasn't the only one in this unheard of situation. I somehow found myself cornered into a Footlocker as the tall girl followed closely. I was breathing heavily when I grabbed the baseball bat from the sporting goods aisle. I remember that moment perfectly. The forceful, calculated swing I had took up at her head, the sickening and somehow strangely satisfying thud and crack of the impact and the disgusting way her head had split open like a watermelon, chunks of grayish brain and skull spilt all over the floor.

I had been so surprised at the damage I had done. I had no idea a metal baseball bat could split a person into pieces, but that was what had happened. I stood there in Footlocker for much longer than I should have or needed to, with tiny specs of brain and sticky blood on my clothes and face. I felt wet, hot tears on my face. I wasn't sure if I was more mortified that I had almost been attacked, or that I had killed my attacker. After all, zombie wasn't the first thing that came to my mind. I thought she'd been a sick, mentally deranged girl. Not a reanimated corpse.

After I'd had a small, silent meltdown in Footlocker, I decided that the next smart move would be to go home, see if my parents were okay and board up the house together. The thing is, I don't always do what's smart. All I could think of was Kurt and the fact that I had told him to come here, the fifteen thousand square foot building that was apparently infested with zombies, if I factor in the screams coming from the other corners of the mall. I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything before finding Kurt and bringing him to safety. If anything happened to him, I would never be able to live with myself. So I slung my bat over my shoulder and went on my search.

Making it out of the mall had been a challenge in itself. The parking lot was a even worse experience. I tried my best to ignore the sickening thuds of corpses running into my car as I drove through Westerville. I kept the doors locked, the windows up and drove _very slowly _down the route that Kurt would be coming, hoping to God that I would meet him halfway. I remembered that he was running late and hoped he was still at home, safe inside with Burt and Carole. Finn had already made it out of Ohio and down south at the start of the summer to attend bootcamp, so odds are, he would be safer than the rest of us.

I picked up my cellphone and punched in Kurt's number, holding it to my ear and listening to the frustrating dial tone. He didn't pick up. He didn't pick up by the third or fifth times, either. I could feel my face getting red, my body boiling with fear and frustration. All I could hear through the streets were blood curdling screams and hungry moans, and my hands shook wildly as I gripped the steering wheel. I reminded myself that I was a man now. Brave and chivalrous and spirited, like my father or my older brother. Still, I felt like a little boy. All I wanted was to be protected in that moment, but I was alone. What could I do?

Somehow, I made my way to the border of Lima, and didn't stop for any screams or thuds against my car. I'm not sure if I was being smart or cowardly, but I didn't want to take the risk of opening any of my car doors. I didn't even unlock them or roll down the windows, despite the summer heat. I didn't stop once on my trip to Lima, until I'd heard a scream. Of course, the streets were full of screams. Even when I got to Lima, where the population of both victims and zombies seemed less dense, screaming was everywhere. Still, this scream got my attention.

"BLAAAAAINE!"

I raised an eyebrow and peered out of the window to see Rachel Berry as I'd never seen her. Her face was pale and shocked like a ghost, her hair mussed all around her head and her clothes hanging awkwardly, a sleeve of her cardigan ripped and wool threads sticking out, wearing only one ballet flat. She was standing outside of her house - one of the colonials I'd passed on my way to Kurt's house. Just standing there, staring at me in the car, her eyes wide with both fear and hope. I slowed down my car as I passed the house, even though I didn't quite want to come to a stop. She was standing in the middle of her lawn, and zombies were starting to corner her, some stumbling out of other houses and some sprinting awkwardly down the road. My eyes widened as her dads stumbled out of the house, their skin gray and their expressions blank, their arms outstretched as they walked lazily to their daughter.

I flung my passenger's seat open and shrilly shouted, "Get in!"

She ran as fast as she possibly could across the lawn in her one shoe and leaped into the car, closing and locking the door behind her and staring unwaveringly through the window as her fathers started to speed up, chasing after us with no luck. I drove fast now, just hoping to get away from the horrible sight of the undead Mr. and Mr. Berry. We soon lost them in the horizon, but Rachel's gaze was stuck outside the window. Her mouth was slack and as I drove us farther and farther away, shocked whimpers started to come from her, as if she was choking on tears, her chest convulsing although no moisture was coming out of her eyes.

I squirmed awkwardly in my seat and bit my lip, trying to keep my own emotions in check. It felt strangely like I was intruding on Rachel's personal right to mourn if I started crying over her parents. I shook my head at myself and kept driving to Kurt's house, which had to be less than five minutes away at this point.

"What happened?" she asked, as if I would have the answer.

"I don't know, Rachel," I said, my voice shaking, "I don't know. I don't know."

We were both shocked shells, staring hopelessly out of our windows.

"Where are we going?" she decided to ask an easier question.

"Kurt's house," I said, sighing my reply, "I have to see Kurt."

"And Finn?" Rachel asked hopefully.

"Finn's at bootcamp," I told her what she already knew.

She nodded. "They were fine," she whispered, "They were fine. They were downstairs. One of them was playing the piano. Papa was gonna come up and help me pack for New York... They were _fine_."

"I don't know what happened," I replied, although she hadn't asked. I just had nothing else to say.

"Who else?" she asked, "How many more?"

I bit my lip. "A lot."

Rachel closed her eyes and her lips curled down and trembled as if she were about to cry. "They were _fine_."

For some reason, that struck me as odd. Of course, everything that was happening was odd, more than odd, but what Rachel said had stuck with me. They were _fine_. There was just something not right about it. Of course, that thought flew out of my mind the moment we approached Kurt's house. I unbuckled my seat belt and threw my door open.

"Wait!" Rachel said loudly, "Wait."

I furrowed my brow, annoyed that she was right, and locked my door again, leaning in my seat and looking out of the window to see if there were any zombies wandering through the streets. There probably were earlier, but the neighborhood was more or less abandoned at this point. Of course, there were plenty of backyards and fences and garages for zombies to lurk behind and jump out from.

I picked up my bat and noticed Rachel glancing curiously at it, or more specifically, the brain residue smeared on it.

"I had to kill one," I said to her, bearing all my fear and mortification and loss in one sentence.

She frowned sympathetically, and glanced at the rip on her cardigan. I only realized then that her dads were probably responsible for her dishevelled appearance. They had attacked her, surely. It was a miracle that she escaped the hungry wrath of two grown men, let alone zombies.

After a moment, we deemed the coast clear, and I left the car with my bat at my side and told Rachel to stay inside and honk if she saw anything suspicious. With a lot of trepidation, I went into the Hummel-Hudson house, a little dismayed to see that the door was open. I wondered what that meant. The house was completely silent and smelled a little... rusty? I wasn't liking the look of things as I trekked farther into the darkness of the silent house. I wanted to call for Kurt, but I didn't want to alert any zombies if, God forbid, there were any inside.

I checked the kitchen and the living room and although I was relieved to find them empty, it only instilled more fear in me that Kurt wouldn't be here, ready for me to rescue. I stalked upstairs, keeping my loafers light on the carpet and headed straight for Kurt's room at the end of the hall. Then, that room seemed so alien to me. Most of Kurt's stuff had been packed away to go to New York and left his room looking unfamiliar. The smell of rust was stronger here. I walked farther in, holding my bat tight by my side and my eyes widened with horror to see blood stains on the carpet.

I could feel my knees tremble and give way, and my bat slip out of my hands and hit the carpet with a thud. I didn't cry. I just sat there, staring, hopeless. My blood pumped in my ears and my stomach churned and I felt like I was about to vomit, the rusty, warm, stinking smell of blood overwhelming my nostrils. I heard a door creak, and looked up, almost dreamlike, to see someone approaching from Kurt's en suite bathroom.

I blinked hazily and saw the familiar face of Carole Hummel, wearing a denim jacket that Kurt would not have approved of. Her skin was a sickly gray and she stared down at me, no emotion behind her eyes. A pint of blood seemed to have spilled down from her neck, drenching the side of her jacket and blouse, and although her neck was covered in blood, I could tell it had been mutilated, with strips of skin hanging off.

I just stared at her in mute horror as she stumbled forward, arms outstretched and loomed into me. _Crack! _I jumped up in surprise as Carole reeled back, the skin on her head split open and very small amounts of blood lazily dribbling out. Rachel Berry stood at my side, breathing heavily as she gripped the baseball bat I had dropped on the floor. In the back of my mind, I knew she was holding it wrong, but I kept that to myself. Besides, what difference did it make? We weren't exactly playing baseball. She whacked the zombified Carole in the head two more times before we deemed her dead. Rachel grimaced and held out the bat for me to take.

"You keep it," I told her.

She nodded, and took a scarf from Kurt's vanity table and wiped the bat with it. I wasn't sure how to feel about that, but I kept quiet.

"There's blood on the floor," I said quietly.

Rachel looked at the blood stained carpet and then at me. "Carole's."

"Maybe."

"It's not Kurt's. It's not."

I nodded in agreement, although how could either of us be sure?

"Where do we go now?" she asked, "You need a weapon."

I chewed the inside of my cheek and thought. "My parents might be alive."

"You want to go all the way back to Westerville?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Where else?"

Suddenly, we heard movement from the hallway. A light thud, as if someone had bumped into an end table. Rachel held up her metal bat and tiptoed quietly to the door. I searched around me for anything to use as a weapon and remembered how Kurt had taken ninjutsu up as a hobby the year we met. My eyes were peeled for his thin, sharp throwing knives but it seemed that they were gone. Instead, I pushed all of Kurt's belt and scarves off of his standing coat rack and picked up the wooden pole, following Rachel as she neared the bedroom door. With a heavy inhale, she pushed the door open and leaped out into the hallway, and I followed after her.

We each gasped when we saw Sam Evans in the hall, holding a frying pan in his hands, his blond hair falling over his eyes.

"Blaine!"

I blinked, surprised, Sam's and his frying pan disappearing as I woke up from my recollections of the first day of the outbreak. Cooper was in front of me now, snapping his finger at my face.

"What?" I snapped, pushing myself up off against the wall and watching Rachel and Puck lead the kids out of the playroom.

Cooper smirked. "Dinner's ready."

**a/n: Thank you for patiently waiting for a chapter. I truly hope you liked it, and will continue to read as we unravel the mystery. I would love love love your questions, comments and suggestions! Thanks to all who read and reviewed!**


	6. How To Save A Life

**Sebastian**

I'd been at the Westerville Mall, alone. Most of what I do is alone. I'm not looking for pity, so you can save it, you mama bear pity fetishists. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself, thank you very much.

If you must know, I do things alone because that's how I _like_ it. I mean, sure, I spend some weekends at the local haunts, flirting with boys, for my benefit, and girls, for theirs. I've definitely snuck a boy or two into my dorm room at Dalton after lights out - half hoping I'd get caught. But for the most part, I like to be alone. I'm not what you'd call a "good sharer". I guess it's my parents fault for never procreating a second time. I always wondered what it'd be like to have another little me running around the house. Then again, a younger sibling would just cramp my style.

My parents issued me a credit card when I turned sixteen. For emergencies, they said. Not that they ever held me to that rule. As long as my purchases weren't too extravagant, they didn't mind getting sizeable bills from Abercrombie & Fitch.

Which was where I was when I ran into Blaine Anderson.

Seeing him had made my boring day a little less boring. Blaine Anderson was a definite hunk, and it really was a shame that he'd dropped out of Dalton Academy to be closer to his pixie-ish peasant boyfriend. It was pathetic, really.

And I'd relished the news that Kurt would be moving to New York to go to college, leaving Blaine all alone in his last year of high school. I would feel bad for Blaine, if I wasn't so delighted by what that meant for me. I met his gaze and I'd be lying if I said he hadn't looked a little intimidated. Was he afraid of merely being _seen_ with me? Of Kurt catching us, what, _talking_? He really was on a short leash…

"Blaine Anderson," I sighed as I sauntered forward, "Where's your girlfriend?"

He frowned disapprovingly at me as I leaned against the rack of sweater vests he was looking at. I liked to think he was not only irritated by my presence, but flustered. If I do say so myself, I looked handsome in my Dalton uniform - but I looked even sexier out of it.

"Hello, Sebastian," said Blaine, raising his chin as if reminding himself not to let me get the better of him. So adorable. "Kurt should be here soon."

As if _that_ was supposed to faze me. Screw his uppity princess of a boyfriend. There was no way Tiny-Teeth Hummel could ever get a guy as excited as I would. Clearly, Blaine was brainwashed if he thought that baby cherub was sexy.

"Still going strong, I see," I said, resisting the urge to laugh, "It's to be expected, what with you two moving to New York together."

Blaine raised a naive eyebrow. "We're not moving to New York together."

Of course they're not. "Really?" I asked, pretending to be taken aback, "Didn't get Kurt get into some college? His second choice?"

I could see Blaine's jaw clench, realizing just what mind game I was up to. "He did. But _I_ have to finish high school."

"Oh, that's right! So, long distance, huh?"

"Uh huh."

"You know what they say about long distance relationships-"

"I know, Sebastian. Can you just leave me alone?"

A smile was frozen on my face in surprise. Normally Blaine was so polite and tolerable, even of the most dramatic of flirtations. He must have been really fed up at this point. "Calm down, Blaine," I tried to chuckle, "I'm just messing with you. The wood nymph has nothing to be afraid of."

"No, he doesn't," Blaine said defiantly, "You should go. He's gonna be annoyed if he sees me talking to you."

At that, I had to laugh of loud, bitterness staining my voice. "Whipped, much? Besides, I was here first, Anderson! _I _have to leave to make your queen happy?!"

Blaine clenched his jaw, irate. "Whatever. I'll leave," he said, and turned on his heel.

I could feel my face getting hot with humiliation. "Whatever, Blaine. If the long distance relationship doesn't break you up, the stick up your ass will!"

Blaine spun around, his face unreadable. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he simply gasped and shouted, "Sebastian!"

"Wh-" I barely said before he had rushed over and pounded into me like a linebacker.

I fell over, the wind knocked out of me, as I sprawled across the floor. I wrinkled my brow in anger and confusion, ready to look up at him and curse him out for his violence. But there was no time. A girl had lunged towards him. She was an employee - and not your usual shade of girl. I sat up on the floor and gaped as the gray-skinned chick stumbled towards Blaine. Despite the screaming I heard in my mind, I could not will my body to move and help him. I was petrified as this soulless-looking girl's body jerked awkwardly, drool dripping off of her lip, her arms outstretched and reaching for Blaine, who had valiantly pushed me out of the way.

_He saved my life_. That was all that rang through my mind as the girl chased him right out of the store. Suddenly, I jerked up, adrenaline pumping through my body. I didn't have a single weapon in my hand, but I made the reckless decision to run after them. To save Blaine, like he had saved me. But as soon as I had sprinted out of Abercrombie & Fitch, a woman crashed into me, knocking us both to the floor. I turned over on my back to see, like the employee, she wasn't a normal woman at all, but another gray-skinned, drooling _freak_ who had pinned me down to the ground and was gnashing dangerously close to my face with sharp, wet, yellowing teeth and a blank look of mindless rage in her eyes.

I writhed under her heavy weight until she went completely stiff and silent, the sharp point of a silver blade sticking out of the middle of her forehead. My eyes were wide with panic and she slumped over and died on top of me. I couldn't even be embarrassed that I was crying, I was that terrified. Someone kicked her off of me and I blinked through my tears to see Kurt Hummel standing over me, holding two small, sharp, curved blades in each hand and breathing heavily in his Zara Aran wrap sweater.

He lent me a helping hand up and didn't waste time in asking. "Where's Blaine?"

I blinked at him, and looked around me at the upper level of the mall, hearing the screams of terror coming from all corners, and seeing the dead woman on the ground, already looking like a not-so-fresh corpse. The word zombie escaped my mouth without me realizing it.

"Maybe," Kurt replied calmly, "Sebastian, I need you to tell me. Where is Blaine?"

I opened my mouth, uncertain, and looked around. "I... He... I don't-"

"Sebastian-"

"I don't know, okay?! I don't know!" I yelled at him.

I immediately regretted the outburst after seeing the forlorn look on his face. That was what he came here for, I realized. For Blaine.

"What's going on?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he replied, "We have to find Blaine."

I looked around us, feeling selfish, because even though Blaine had saved my life and I would have liked to find him and escape to safety, I really didn't want to have to do that. After what had just happened, I just wanted to go home.

"Call him," I suggested.

"I tried," said Kurt, "Something's wrong with the signal."

I frowned hopelessly. "What do we do?"

Kurt looked just as lost. "Where would Blaine be?"

I racked my brain. "Looking for you. Probably." _If he was alive. _I couldn't voice that part out loud.

Kurt chewed his pink bottom lip, most likely wondering where Blaine would go to look for him. "Do you think Blaine would drive to Lima?"

I couldn't help but scoff. "Maybe… if he were completely insane. Maybe he _is_."

Kurt frowned. "I need to find him, Sebastian."

"Just stop for a second, okay? This is insane. People are going insane and attacking us and... We just have to call the police."

"No signal, remember?"

"_Somewhere _has to have a signal, Kurt," I protested, almost hysterical, "If not, we can drive to the damn police department, okay?"

"And what if Blaine is dead by then?!" he shouted at me.

"That's not our fault! We're kids! _Kids_!"

Kurt clenched his jaw and frowned sternly at me, as if to say, '_Get it together, Smythe'_.

"We're not kids anymore," Kurt said simply.

"We're not soldiers, either. We're high school students, okay? And where did you get those knives?!"

Kurt looked down at the silver edged blades in his hands. "I practise ninjutsu."

"Right. That's completely normal."

"It was just something to put on my resume, okay? It came in handy, didn't it?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Thank you." I realized then that he had saved my life, not a minute after Blaine had. I would have died. Twice. If it weren't for them. For some odd reason it made me dislike them even more. I hated owing people something.

"Let's go to Blaine's house," he said.

I frowned fearfully. "It's like twenty minutes away."

"So?"

"_So? _So, Hummel, the _town _is being _attacked _by _zombies_."

"It's not just the town."

"What?"

"Not just the town. They're in Lima, too. One was in my house. A neighbor of mine was infected... I guess. I got my swords and came here."

"Why would you come here?"

He sighed irritably. "To look for Blaine!"

I stared at him as if he were insane. Come all the way to another town in the middle of some sort of psycho zombie outbreak? For what? His boyfriend? Screw love. If that's what it did to people, then goddammit, just screw love. I didn't want any part of it. I wasn't about to endanger my life in order to get laid. That was so not cool.

"I want to go home," I said simply.

"Sure. After we find Blaine."

I widened my eyes at him. "No! I'm going home now!"

He lunged forward, dropping his knives, and gripped each of my shoulders in his surprisingly forceful, pale white hands. "Listen to me, Sebastian. I understand that you're scared. Okay? I do. I really do. But I'm not doing anything before I find my boyfriend."

I just looked at him, tears coming to my eyes again. I must have just pathetically stared at him for too long, because after a while his arms dropped to his sides and he sighed, looking resigned and vaguely disgusted.

"Fine," he almost spat, "Go home. I'm looking for Blaine."

He picked up his knives and pushed past me. "Wait!" I called, "Don't leave me alone!"

He looked back at me with a cold frown. "I'm going to Lima. You can come with me, or you can fend for yourself."

I sniffed resentfully. "I'll come with you. But we need to get me a weapon."

Together, we left the mall and hopped into Kurt's car, just the two of us.

_Six weeks later. _

It's still just the two of us.

**Quinn**

I started crying the moment I bit into a leg of roast chicken.

I wasn't crying because of how good the chicken was. Don't be a moron. I was crying because the moment I sat down with this oddball collection of men, women and children who called themselves The Resistance and started to eat dinner with them, several thoughts whizzed through my mind at once.

Shelby was sitting at the other end of the table in the children's cafeteria of the large preschool, feeding Beth a small bowl of peas and carrots. As much as I wanted to get information out of her, the food smelled too delicious to not be given attention. After six weeks of mine and Brittany's questionable cooking skills and with a very limited amount of ingredients, it was an emotional experience to see and smell good, hot food.

I sat down between Rachel and Puck and hoped I didn't look rude or greedy for concentrating on filling my plate with an embarrassing level of intensity. I was relieved to find, though, that no one was paying attention to each other because everyone was filling their own plates with almost the same level of enthusiasm. It was apparent then that this was truly a special occasion. That hot food and company was almost as rare an occurrence to all of them as it was to me. Everyone at the table was either wolfing down their food without a moment to spare or picking at their plates, their appetites lost forever.

I stole myself a chicken leg before Coach Beiste devoured the entire animal, and bit into the hot, salty meat. That's when I started crying. I started crying because my first thought was how good this chicken was. Because my second thought was how much Brittany would have liked it. Because my third thought was how delighted she would have been to be surrounded by old friends and her girlfriend and good food. She should be here now, I thought. Food still in my mouth, all I could do was sob. I felt the eyes on me now, but I didn't really care.

I felt Rachel's hand on my back, stroking tentatively as I forced the mouthful of chicken down my throat and continued sobbing. I'd never felt more pathetic in my life, sobbing at dinner with everyone staring at me. I didn't see them staring, what with my head bowed in pain and embarrassment, but I could feel them. I heard Rachel's chair squeak backwards and she put her hands on my shoulders, gently pulling me up.

I sniffed and rose out of my chair at her touch and let her take my arm and lead me away. We walked down the hallway, away from the others, her arm wrapped around mine.

"I knew it wasn't a good idea. After everything you'd been through today I knew a big dinner would be too much," she sighed, almost to herself as she led me to the southernmost part of the preschool.

I just sniffed, resigned and exhausted, and let her take me to a room that clearly looked like it used to be a classroom, but was since converted to a bedroom. Three double beds took up the room and the pink and cute items strewn around it led me to believe that this was where at least some of the girls slept. Rachel and I looked at the bed on the left to see Santana sitting on it, staring at the boarded up window.

She turned to us and I had to stop myself from gasping at how different she looked to me. Too skinny, for one thing. For another, she'd cut her hair. As short as I had cut mine at the end of junior year. Shorter, maybe. It was a dark chocolate bob that made her look older than she was. Her cheeks were concave and her eyes with red and bloodshot, her face blotchy and puffy from tears.

"Oh..." Rachel said awkwardly, "Sorry, Santana-"

"Wait," said Santana, sounding like she had a cold, "Don't go."

A fresh wave of tears came to my eyes and there was no stopping myself from sobbing uncontrollably. I felt like a pathetic little girl as I gave in to all the pain and self-pity. I sprinted to where Santana sat and threw myself over her, holding her in an embrace. She held me back, almost painfully hard, and we sat there, wrapped into each other, both of us weeping our eyes out. I looked back over my shoulder and wiped the tears and snot from my face with the back of my sleeve.

Rachel was standing there at the door, tugging on her own sweater and biting her bottom lip until I was sure she was going to draw blood, trying not to cry. I got it. She was an emotional girl. More so than the rest of us. No matter how much more hardened she'd ever get, she wore her heart on her sleeve. The sight of us crying had her in reluctant tears. I badly wanted to call her over and embrace her, too, but everything I was feeling was caught in my throat and I couldn't get a word out.

I was mildly surprised when I heard Santana say, "Come here, hobbit."

Rachel cautiously sauntered over and sat with us on the bed. Santana took one arm off of me and wrapped in around Rachel's shoulder, and I did the same, and the three of us were tangled together in some messy, depressing group hug.

Long after, our faces still streaked with tears, the three of us fell asleep in the same bed. This would be the beginning of a tradition.


End file.
